Hetalia500Prompts
by hazelnutbrew
Summary: And God knows, England was always affectionate towards America. But England felt the walls and ceilings pressing in on him, his loneliness becoming a physical thing that crushed his ribs into his lungs and heart. He couldn't breathe.
1. Chapter 1

**1\. The vacuum of time.**

Song is Run By BTS

How vacant the house seemed without him. England wanted some drunken indulgence tonight, as today was the day that America declared independence from him. He usually wanted to be alone on these days while reminiscing the times that England took care of America...who he had complicated feelings towards. First he started off as a ward. And God knows, England was always affectionate towards America. But England felt the walls and ceilings pressing in on him, his loneliness becoming a physical thing that crushed his ribs into his lungs and heart. He couldn't breathe.

_I'm growing too damned old_, England thought to himself. _Too old for this heartache. When will I learn to let go?_

Ah, but of course he could never let go of America and that dream he had for him. Of America always being by his side. He never imagined that the United States of America would loom monstrous overall other nations, to become the giant and titan that he is today. He didn't need him anymore, did he? England mused to himself on his fourth bottle of ale, that America was like a dream. The dream of a nation. The dream of its people. The dream of something long forgotten but pursues relentlessly forward into the future.

England must've never heard the knock on his door. He slipped into a drunken stupor, and when he realized he was in his bed, he looked up towards the person who was fixing up his house. The person was unfamiliar—a person with dark hair and wearing a hangbok of sorts. Was it...South Korea?

"Yong Soo," England said with a moan as he got up from his resting position. "What are you doing in my house?"

"America sent me here, da ze!" Korea said cheerfully, making a peace sign with his fingers.

England blinked.

"Why would he send you here?" England said, before Korea looked unusually stern for a moment.

"Actually, America didn't send me here. But I am a friend of America's. As K-Pop is slowly filtering into the American consciousness, there is a song that might help soothe your soul, England.

Korea then started to play a song on his phone for England to see. England supposed it was that one popular K Pop song about unrequited love. Run by BTS? He knew a little K-Pop because America was going nuts over Korea's music, to be honest. And some of his comics or manhua, they were called.

"Neon nae hanappunin taeyang sesange ttak hana, neol hyanghae pieotijiman nan jakku mokmalla" Korea sang to the beat of the music.

"England looked towards Korea, who then translated.

"You're my sun, one and only in this world. I bloom for you, but you make me thirsty.."

"Is this a confession to me, Korea?' England said, before he winced. He was starting to get a headache.

"It's a song about unrequited love, England."

"Unrequited love, huh?" England murmured as Korea started to sing more lyrics…

"Babo gateun unmyeonga nareul yokhae, chueokokeuri mareun kkonipcheoreom sansani busecojyeoga, pitiful destiny, point your finger at me, memories crumble like dried flower petals."

Korea paused before singing another stream of lyrics for England.

Machi nabireul jjotdeut kkum sogeul hernaedeut neoui heunjeogeul ttaraga-I'm chasing butterflies, so lost in dreams I follow your traces"

When Korea finished singing the song, England didn't know whether he should clap his hands or simply slap Korea for being insensitive. Why did that Korean bloke have to show up to his house and make him reminisce even further about things...but since there was company at his house and he rested up enough, England decided that he should entertain for a bit.

"Korea," England said, gesturing for Korea to come over to his parlor. "How is America doing?"

Korea looked towards England really bluntly, before shaking his head. "You two are such idiots," Korea said, but not unkindly. "But really, you two should talk."

"What good would it do?" England said morosely. "It's been the same for several years after that incident. It doesn't go anywhere, Korea."

Korea suddenly had a sly look on his face. "Then let little Korea be the matchmaker.

"Oh dear God," England said, before Korea lugged in an invention that he created. "What is this?"

It's a compatibility machine," Korea said proudly. Two people step into it it, and it gives a percentage of their compatibility together. It works!"

"What, do you want to try it with me and you?"

Korea looked flustered. "It's supposed to be for you and America! America totally knows that my inventions are totally great, da ze! If you question my inventions, then you insult the novelty of Korean products!"

"How do you propose that you him in there with me in the first place?"

Korea grinned. "Easy. Tell him that Korea wants to test out a new invention and that you and America are the needed components for the machine."

"He listens to you?"

Korea fidgeted and squirmed. "America treats me well, da ze."

England sighed. "You'll have to tell me how you make him listen to you. He never listened to me while growing up and...wait. Korea. Hold on. Are we...really going to need this machine?"

"Actually, England, you don't need the invention," Korea said. "But if you want Korean engineering and science and numbers, then the machine should blatantly show you and America your compatibility for one another. America doesn't argue with science."

"I suppose not, but..."

England thought for a moment.

"Maybe you're not such a bad bloke after all, Korea. Have a cup of tea."

Korea grinned and gratefully accepted.


	2. Chapter 2

**2\. Terror in the night.**

_Concept: When South Korea became a Tiger Economy._

America received a phone call in the middle of the night from Korea. America didn't understand at first what was going on, though he assumed that he needed to be the hero and help calm Korea down first. He seemed quite stricken while he babbled incoherently on the phone, and America used his best soothing voice as he could to help placate the Korean.

"Korea? I'm gonna head over to your house. It sounds like you need my help. I'll still be on my phone while I'm on the way, okay. Now tell me what happened."

Korea paused for a moment, a still stricken edge to his voice, but he calmed down just enough so America could hear his voice clearly.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Alfred. I just...I don't want to be alone tonight! These...these nightmares that I'm having, just won't go away. I think about my sister, and what I did to her, and everything else. I just...just please, come as soon as you can!"

"All right," Alfred said, keeping his voice calm and trying to talk Korea through his terror. "Take a few deep breaths. Focus on the sound of my voice. I'm talking with you right now, all right? I'm coming as soon as I can. This is no problem. If you need a shoulder to lean on I'm there for you, Korea."

Korea paused, before he started crying on the phone. Alfred's heart plummeted at the sound. His friend was suffering so much, and couldn't hold it together. That's why Alfred needed to be there for him right now.

"it's...it's more than seeing melted faces and hearing gunfire and my sister's crying face during the war, America. It's just...the genuinely shitty things that I've done. The things I can't redeem myself for. I did all these atrocities to my own flesh and blood...you know? And the kindship between us used to be the strongest thing, before..."

Korea sobbed.

"I'm almost there. Here, I'm gonna get off the phone. I'm going to open the door, and I'm going to give you a hug, okay? Sounds like you need one," Alfred said, who took the sobbing Korean in his arms, who literally pounced on America as soon as he heard the doorknob opening from the other side.

"Oh, Alfred!" Yong Soo said,. "Please, just come in and hold me. I just want to be held, that's all I want. I'm um...sorry for calling you so late at night, but I really needed this."

"Okay," America said with a gentle smile as he was guided into Korea's bedroom and they cuddled together on the bed, with America holding his arms around the Korean's shoulders while he sobbed into America's chest the entire time. "You know, Korea, each country has its fair share of atrocities and crimes committed during war. That's the price of independence, the choices, the hard choices that we have to make for the sake of our people. But you know, Korea, I never thought less of you or anything. And I'm sure that one day you will be reunited with your sister again. Just remember...even if people die, even if people do genuinely shitty things to one another—there are ties between us that can't be broken. You love your sister, I know. And Korea...I love you too. Accepting all the good and the bad."

Korea's voice was small.

"Do you ever feel guilt, America?"

America closed his eyes, before he said. "Yes, there are many blunders I've made while trying to be a hero. Wanting to save everyone and everything, for world peace, to make things work. Sometimes I feel so tired, with all these decisions I have to make, so of which I'm not proud of. Like...the bombing of Japan. I wanted a quick way to end the war and it was a pragmatic way of looking at things, but so many innocent and civilians died, who had nothing to do with the war. All for the sake of 'peace' and to end the war. And of course, of my biggest regrets is the purging and genocide of the Native Americans during Manifest Destiny, driving them from their homes and putting them on reservations, and the Mexicans too. I just...there's a lot of shitty stuff I've done too, and there was a time when I was divided between slavery of an exploited people and there are still racial tensions even today. An us versus them mentality. But Korea...you know that I'm your ally. You've stuck with me this entire time and proved a loyal friendship. I couldn't ask for anything more."

"How do you handle those things," Korea said, resting in America's chest though his breathing seemed to calm down a little more. "Like, when you think about the things that you've done in the past, the things that you can't undo-how do you cope with that?"

"You know, I think all of us have our ways of coping," America said. "Like...I look forward to the future. I don't think much of the past, though yes, the past is important to remember. But I like the future so much because of the possibilities. That there are different future and tomorrows that could come out of it. That I can make a better tomorrow then the one that I've made today or in the past. Know what I mean?'

Korea looked towards America, a sudden shine in his eye that held all the adoration and admiration that the little nation had towards him. America's heart melted a little at the sight. So this was what it's like to take care of another nation that needed his help. He knew that Korea would grow up to be strong one day. And America would help Korea make a brighter future for himself. But for now, they would cuddle like this, in each other's arms.

Alfred saw that the Korean fell asleep with a smile on his face.


	3. Chapter 3

**3\. Flashes of euphoria.**

Russia felt lonely sometimes. He didn't like to admit this, but really, he had been alone for so long that it became a physical ache in his bones. The air around him chilled and made it impossible to breathe. He wanted to find a warm place that he could live, instead of the endless harsh winters of Siberia. The relentless cold and snow. General Winter. Yet Russia didn't know how to reach out to others—not in the normal way. He knew that the others were afraid of him. Yes, Russia did some things that he regretted, he had a long and bloody history of conflict in his story. Though he wasn't a monster like the others seemed to love to claim that he was. He was bringing food over to North Korea's house, whom he knew would be sitting in there, secluded from the rest of the world, starving and frail. No one knew this side of Ivan, though Ivan never wanted to be a hero or anything like that. He just wanted to ease his loneliness.

He wondered why, for example, a nation that was considered a hero to many would separate two siblings from one another. That was something that Ivan didn't understand. He cared for North Korea, a little country that was separated from her brother, Yong Soo. But she drew more solemn these days. He thought that North Korea could provide some solace to him, though the little fledgling nation looked up towards him now, and he couldn't show weakness in front of her. The thing that he wanted most was...what he wanted to understand...was love. He was sure he could feel it. He hadn't felt it before, but he was sure, eventually, with someone, he would be able to fall in love. Something to warm the chill in his bones and make the air easier to breathe.

He sought it in North Korea a few times, though the little bird was so delicate, so fragile. Her betrayal and depressive emotions towards South Korea still ran deep. She would stay secluded in the house, not wishing to go out and visit anyone else, isolated in her own little world. She seemed to appreciate it when Ivan would talk with her though, but she didn't wish to talk to anyone else in particular, though Ivan thought that one day he would take her out and get her out of her seclusion. He was pretty sure if he stayed inside his house all the time, without talking or meeting with anyone, he would go insane.

"Little bird," he said to North Korea while she was listlessly reading a book. "I need to take care of my comrade, da?"

North Korea smiled towards Ivan, before she slipped from the bed and went towards him, adjusting his scarf on his shoulders. She murmured softly. "Thank you, Ivan, for taking care of me."

Ivan felt something flutter in his chest but decided t to ignore it. It was a strange feeling. What did it mean? His boss wanted a Communist ally, and North Korea seemed to be a sensible choice for talking to and strengthening alliances with. He wanted the other part of Korea as well, though America had his hands on Yong Soo. Ivan frowned a bit at that. He would much rather have both Koreas together in his house so that North Korea would eventually smile more and get out of her depressive aura, though America kept on insisting that South Korea was safer in his care. He wondered if he could talk to the little Korean nation one day and ask him to visit sometimes, though South Korea seemed to be afraid of Ivan for some reason. It couldn't be helped. Different ideologies and all that. Though Ivan wasn't a monster or the spawn of the devil that other countries seemed to think of him as. North Korea saw that there was some good in him, and that made him warm inside. Just a little.

"If you're going out, make sure to take care of yourself," North Korea said with a small smile towards Ivan.

She paused for a moment, seeming hesitant, and Russia wondered what was on his little birds mind.

"Well, I was hoping that we would go on a walk together," Russia decided. "Get some fresh air. You like your books, but it's sensible to get some fresh air, da? Your economy would be stronger if you got out of the house more and visited the other nations. Like going to the World Meetings."

North Korea hid her head. "I...I don't know. If can go outside or t the meetings. My brother...might be there...I can't let anyone see me in this shameful state, especially my brother."

She then hid under Ivan's bed, curling up and holding herself under there. Ivan was patient with her, though. He knew the ails of loneliness, and what it could do to someone. He was sure that some part of North Korea wished to go out somewhere and see more of the world, but her self consciousness about her country and people being oppressed was something that she didn't want any others to witness. She wanted to bear herself with dignity, and family ties were important to her of course, but she felt that she wasn't worthy enough of seeing Korea again.

"Little bird," Ivan said as she sat down next to the bed, where North Korea was hiding. "You are a beautiful woman whom I wish to show off to the rest of the world. I'm proud of you being my comrade, and know that you will be a strong nation that can bear herself with pride. Won't you take a little walk with me, at least?"

"N-No..." North Korea said, sulking in a depressive state now.

When Ivan tried to reach under the bed and pull her out towards him, North Korea threw some dust bunnies and whatever she could find underneath the bed.

"Ivan, please. I can't let anyone see me right now." 

"Take a step outside with me?"

"No." She threw a shoe at Ivan.

"You will eventually run out of things to throw at me, da?"

She then threw a dust bunny clod at him afterwards.

Ivan withheld a snicker. His little Korean was too precious at times, wasn't she?

"And people say that I'm the childish one," Russia muttered, and then North Korea's own shoe landed and hit him against the side. There was no malice behind the throw, but Ivan took this opportunity to play a little prank on the Korean and took her out the exposed foot with no shoe...and started to tickle it.

"Ivan, stop!" North Korea said, as he tickled her foot and she laughed helplessly. She was surprisingly ticklish, and Ivan found out her weak point was her foot."Don't do this to me! Ah!"

Ivan giggled. "I won't stop until you take one step outside with me."

North Korea giggled helplessly under her breath, and she crawled out from underneath the bed and tried to swat out at Ivan. However, Ivan could easily take her playful punches ( which felt like a cupcake squishing against his chest, to be honest)

"Okay, okay," North Korea said with some helpless giggles. "I'll come. Just for a little bit. And I expect you to protect me if the other countries try to harass me or something."

"I will do so, comrade. You know that I've always protected you, da?"

North Korea smiled at Ivan with a new light shining in her eyes, before she graced him with a gentle kiss.

The frost and cold that surrounded Ivan seemed to grow warmer around him.


	4. Chapter 4

**4\. Dancing with the devil.**

Russia decided that he would approach America. Russia sat and thought for a while. He was not evil. America may have one time called him a Communist prick at one point, it was simply a different ideology than the capitalism that America revered so much. Russia didn't want to change America to his way of thinking—he just wanted America to understand him. Though America, the heroic figure that he is, was always trying to save everyone and everything, so maybe...maybe he could ask Alfred for help. Ask him him to save him. Yet there was a certain sense of pride in Russia that wouldn't stoop to begging and lowering himself prostrating himself against the younger nation. So he figured that a scheme that he could try to talk to the America without getting a blunt fist to the face was talking through the countries they harbored under their protection—North Korea and South Korea. Russia's boss told them that swapping Koreas for a day would be an interesting challenge to go by, and maybe in hopes of converting South Korea to a Communist nation. Though what Ivan was concerned about most was getting to know the brother that his little North Korea loved so much. He would get his hands on both siblings if he can, if only to see North Korea go out in the world more and open and blossom into the beautiful woman that he knew she was.

Ivan knocked at America's house. It felt strange going on American territory, and he heard through other nations that South Korea was staying at America's house sometimes to play games with him, but getting North Korea out from underneath the bed was a miracle in itself. Ivan didn't know how he persuaded her to get out form underneath the bed, among the dust bunnies that lingered underneath there, but he coaxed her out and promised her that he would take extra good care of her tonight when they came back home. North Korea fiddled with her braids, wondering how her brother would react. She was wary of America, because America was the one who separated her and her brother from one another and showed some animosity towards Ivan. But she was on her best behavior tonight. No threatening Christmas presents from her people to America or anything like that.

Yong Soo was the one who opened the door. When he saw Russia at first, his eyes widened, before he looked towards his sister, who was hiding behind Ivan and trembling.

"Ji-Yeon?" Yong Soo said, his voice trembling with emotion. "Oh God, Ji-Yeon. It's been...how many years?"

North Korea trembled behind Russia, peeking from behind Ivan towards her brother, not able to meet his gaze. "I-I'm sorry, Yong Soo. This is your sister's fault..."

"No, no," Yong Soo gently, before he wiped at the corners of his eyes. He hid his face behind his sleeves, looking as though he might cry, and Ivan wondered whether he did more damage than good through this interaction, though Korea lifted his sleeves away form his face and had the greatest grin on his face upon greeting his sister.

"It really is you!" Korea chattered animatedly as he took his sister and swung her by the arm, hoisting her up and catching her in a strong grip. "It's you! It's you! It's you, it's you, it's you! Ji-Yeon, you know how long I have been waiting to hear from you! I missed you so much, da ze!"

'S-Stop it," North Korea said embarrasedly. "People can look up my skirt, you know, when you're throwing me up and down like this..."

South Korea grinned ear to ear as he put his sister down carefully and bowed towards Ivan.

"Thank you so much! You know, what brings you here today, Ivan? I was hinking about the calculations and trajectories that are needed for our space program, and if you'd like to review my math and statistics, I would be happy to look over yours."

"That won't be necessary, comrade," Ivan said, before America stepped into the doorway.

"Korea, what is...Ivan? Ji-Yeon?"

North Korea hid behind Ivan again and hissed at America.

"Filthy capitalist pig. I hope you will enjoy the Christmas present I'm going to send over for the holiday season. Your house will be decimated to a cancerous crisp that the jolly fat man named Santa can't locate your sorry carcass among the rubble."

"Nice to meet you too, North Korea."

Korea laughed, before he patted his sister on the head gently. "She's a sweet girl. She really is. Try to get along with her, America."

"Speaking of which," Ivan said, before saying, I'm entrusting Ji-Yeon in your care for today, America. I will be taking Yong Soo with me for a little while towards my house."

"So is this like a Spouse Swap or something?" America joked, and looked at the hissing North Korea who detached herself from Ivan enough to spew out another threat towards America.

"I'm going to murder you in your sleep, America. Watch your back, because I'm going to take out your intestines and use them as a jump rope when I tear you limb from limb like an angry bear who is starving from hibernation."

"You say this as you hide beyond me, little bird," Russia said cheerfully, before he put North Korea towards America's arms while taking Yong Soo in his own. "Well, let's see...I will check over your calculations then, Yong Soo. But thus far you haven't really needed my help when it comes to advanced mathematics, at least.

"Ivan, you flatter me too much, da ze!" Korea said as he made a genki sign with his finger towards the Russian. "Anyway, I'll come to your house and we'll talk about math and science all day. All right! We're going to have a great time."

Yong Soo smiled and patted North Korea on the head, who was still growling at America. "Peace, America! Take good care of my sister, won't you?"

"Yeah, your sister is adorable," America said sarcastically while venturing to pinching her by the cheeks, to which she bit his finger. "Woah! Watch out, this one has fangs!"

"We will see you later, America," Russia said as he wandered off towards his house, while the Korean chatted animatedly about science and technology developments in the space program that they were working on together.

-x-

"Ji-Yeon."

Ji-Yeon said nothing. She merely looking at America with a scathing expression that did not match her normally sweet face. "I hate you, you know. Filthy capitalist pig."

America frowned. "I've got food. That is, if you want any."

Ji-Yeon perked up at the sound of food. Her pride looked like she wouldn't accept anything made from America, but her grumbling stomach protested. She let out a sigh, before she eventually made her way into America's kitchen space and looked curiously as America made some roast beef and mashed potatoes. North Korea's stomach growled again in protest. She didn't want to mention how good the food smelled, but North Korea assumed that it was because her people were starving and under a regime that deprived them of the things that they needed. She couldn't take care of her people properly—nor could she take care of herself, apparently. That's why she relied on Ivan so much. To depend on America, who took her beloved brother away from her…

"You know, Ji-Yeon," America said as he set a plate of steaming food before her. North Korea didn't want to look weak and too tempted by the food, though the tanatlizing smell of savory meat and potatoes was enough to drive her senses wild. She couldn't deny her people, could she? She wouldn't accept this as a peace offering, but she would feed her people. No matter whose hands it came from, she would feed her people. "Russia seems to care for you a lot, doesn't he?"

North Korea paused. The threat that she was going to say died up on her lips. She frowned at America instead, trying to eat in slow bites so that she wouldn't burst her stomach.

"My brother..." she said, a bit hesitantly after a while. "Really likes and admires you, America."

America started to eat some food himself while he watched North Korea eat. He stared at her with an intensity that was somewhat like what Ivan gave her sometimes, and North Korea looked away in a huff, flushing. She shouldn't be flustered by this fool! This foolish fool from the land of fools!

"I'm not a hero just for fun, you know. I really want to make the world a better place, to have a better future for the generations that will walk on the earth as their ancestors perish and pass on. I think that, the most important thing, about the future and making sure it's left a little better than it was before for the future generations is really important."

North Korea perked up. She didn't think that America would get so deep and philosophical. Perhaps she would give this man more credit than she normally gave him.

"I...didn't want to do it. Separate you from your brother, I mean," America said looking towards Ji-Yeon with a certain kindness in his eyes that she couldn't take.

"The damage is already done," Ji-Yeon said a bit bitterly. "We were happy together. We were doing fine. Then we got involved in your stupid proxy wars. Is my brother just a pawn to you, America?"

America narrowed his eyes towards her, before steepling his hands in front of his face.

"What is Korea to me, you ask? He's a friend. A lover. An ally. An equal. That's what I think of him."

Ji-Yeon was stunned speechless. Was this...what America really thought of her brother?

"Do you think that I'm worthy of being saved?" She said a little morosely, and America looked towards her with curiosity in her eyes. "I mean...do I deserve to be saved when I can't even properly feed my people and give them the rights and love that they deserve? I didn't want to go out today, because I didn't want my brother to see me like this. But when he saw me...I...he's doing so well. His people are flourishing."

"Korea is a strong little nation," America said, looking rather proud of his friend Yong Soo. "I just helped him along the way, and like wow, he suddenly becomes this titan among the economic world. I really admire him for that, you know? North Korea, I know that we didn't get along so well in the past, but I want to put our differences aside."

Ji Yeon looked towards America with wide eyes. Was he finally coming to see the light of enlightenment? Or was he just...playing on her hopes. After being disillusioned and worn down too many times, North Korea thought it was too much to hope for. However, a flutter in her breast told her that this friendship with America could be possible.

"Please, Alfred," North Korea said while averting her gaze away from his. "Please...take care of my brother Yong Soo. That's all I ask."

America grinned and gave her a thumbs up. "Don't worry about it! I'll think of a way to reunite you and you brother again together if you want. I'm sure that...Ivan is..well...we've discussed this a few times with one another. We may have our differences, but we're really invested in uniting you two together again. We don't think that siblings and families should be split up, after all, and well...our bosses may not agree with one another, Ivan and I, but...I'm sure that...things will work out in the end. A hero always has to make the impossible possible, you know? I defy every logic and reason—if logic or reason says that I can't do something, then I say logic and reason is wrong, and I do my own thing. So you know, Ji-Yeon, you may not like me. Maybe you never will. But since you're Korea's sister, I have to say with honesty that, yes, you deserve to be saved too. A hero saves everyone, after all."

North Korea flushed, though she turned away before America could see it.

-x-

While South Korea babbled on with complicated theories and statistics that would make even the most devoted of scholars intimidated and having their head reel, Ivan found that he liked this side of Korea, when he wasn't being the overly cheerful and annoying brother persona to his siblings. Ivan saw many things, observed many things, and he cared for the Korean nation as well. He wanted to know more about Ji Yeon through Yong Soo, what he thought of her. He wanted to see her smiling again, if just for a moment ,and he wanted to see what about Yong Soo was that Ji Yeon admired most about him. He knew South Korea, once the twin sister of North Korea, decided to become her brother so he could better defend her from the world. South Korea wanted to be a hero to his sister like America was a hero to the world. Ivan wondered...would America ever acknowledge him like he acknowledged the other nations? They had many things in common, he felt, though America could perhaps, never truly his. But the most that he wished for was for America to understand him, to know him better. He thought that by communicating this to South Korea, the message would reach Alfred's ears. He couldn't bear to hear the rejection from Alfred's lips if he said that Ivan was absolute scum that he wished to never see again. Wistful thoughts. Hopeful thoughts. He didn't know if they would ever come to fruition.

South Korea looked towards him while he was talking numbers, and frowned a bit. Pulling Ivan into a warm hug, he whispered in Russia's ear. "Ivan, you have such a forlorn look on your face. It's the same look I saw on the face of my sister when we were separated. Tell me...what's on your mind, da ze?"

"Where to even begin," Ivan murmured, feeling a little shy about revealing these intentions even to South Korea. He hadn't confided these thoughts to North Korea yet, either. But he worried that eventually he was gonna collapse underneath his own weight. A nation wrought with too much turmoil and bloody history. "To be honest, Yong Soo. I came here with a serious discussion. If you're willing to listen and help me. I guess...what I need is...what you would call a therapist, da?"

"Dr. Korea is on the case," Yong Soo said cheerfully before he looked seriously towards Ivan. "What is troubling you? It helps to vent, or to have someone listen. You can tell me everything, Ivan. There's no need for pretense around me."

Ivan sighed. Korea could be more perceptive than he let on.

"Other people fear me," Russia said, and looked at the Korean's expression carefully. "Even you fear me...da? Even you, South Korea...fear me."

Korea paused for a moment, before his cheerful and genki personality started to drop and a more serious expression overcame his features. "Do I fear you, you say? Hm...are you powerful and intimidating? Yes. Are you someone to be frightened of? I don't think so. You try hard, Ivan, to connect with others but you just don't know how. To be honest I may act like the carefree happy go lucky ditz, but there's more to me than just the 'genki' personality and being so obnoxiously cheerful that it annoys other people, right? Well, Ivan, I think that you've got your heart in the right place, but to connect with other people...well, just tell them how you feel. From the heart."

"Sometimes I wonder if I even have a heart," Russia muttered, before Korea looked towards him curiously. Ivan sighed. "I want to fall in love. I want to feel it someday. I'm sure that I can love someone, I just haven't experienced it yet. Such as...I'm comrades with your sister. Is it love? I don't know. I respect America, even though his ideologies are different from mine. And the other countries I hang out with—I want some meaningful connections, but they all tremble in front of me."

Russia remained silent for a moment, before saying. "I don't know what I want, to be honest. But sometimes I enjoy a good drink of vodka to soothe this ache in my chest."

"You mean sorrow."

"I suppose. It more feels like...I don't have anything left to give. That I'm going to collapse into myself. That my country will fall one day, because it's growing too big to sustain itself, and it will eventually cannibalize itself. If you send a message to America, tell him that..."

Tell him what? That he was burdened with too many complicated feelings that he couldn't give voice to? That he was getting tired and lethargic from the cold. That some day he hopes that it gets so cold that he would curl up and rest his eyes and never wake again.

South Korea put a hand on Russia's shoulder to comfort him.

"Hey...you're not alone, Ivan. You may think that you are, but you just gotta prove to others that you're not the big scary guy that they think you are. You can prove them wrong. You've made some contributions to the world that people remember for decades. You are a strong nation. You are a proud nation. You are a great nation. Be proud of yourself and your achievements. Be proud of who you are. If you're feeling depression, reach out and contact someone. They will know to listen and help you if you ask for help. If you make yourself vulnerable and tell them your true feelings, then they will lend you a shoulder. I don't think any of us is heartless enough to turn away someone who is needing to vent and ask for help."

"Yong Soo?" Ivan said, looking towards Korea with unsure violet eyes. "Can you...hold me? I think I'd like that right now. Just to know that someone isn't afraid to touch me or give me affection."

South Korea then enveloped his arms around Russia, taking the bigger nation within his arms. Russia felt the cold in his heart and lungs recede just the tiniest bit.


	5. Chapter 5

**5\. Fatal accident.**

Concept: _It is the year 1947, and Prussia finally falls. Even after being murdered by Russia, however, Prussia still lingers on earth watching those he came to know during his lifetime._

Funny how dying didn't hurt. It simply felt uncomfortable, really, as though he was held underwater slightly over the drowning point. Consciousness shimmered away like the elusive surface of a drowning swimmer submerging deeper into the water. After the plunging through the seemingly endless freefall, Prussia found himself in familiar surroundings. The piano parlor was just as he remembered it. The grand piano stood in the middle of the room, black and white keys gleaming in what little light there was. However, the curtains were drawn, and no occupant sat at the piano bench. Prussia noticed a slight layer of dust shrouded the keys. He didn't think that prissy rich boy would so much allow a single speck of dust to touch his beloved piano.

Out of some nameless compulsion, Prussia wandered toward the abandoned piano, regarding the state of things. Then he splayed his fingers, slamming the keys in a discordant cacophony that shrieked through the halls. Prussia jumped at the noise, though he quickly composed himself. Really, someone as awesome as him shouldn't be frightened of a piano. However, it seemed that the noise captured the attention of a certain someone. Wandering into the parlor, _she_ gazed around the room, a momentary semblance of life flickering in her eyes.

"Austria-san? Are you-"

Her face fell when she saw no one else occupied the room. Hungary walked toward the piano, lightly brushing her fingers across the piano. As she did so, however, her hand swept through his own, causing her to flinch and shiver slightly. For a moment, their eyes made contact. At first, Prussia thought that she could see him, and a faint glimmer of hope bubbled in his chest. However, Hungary merely lifted her hand to her chest and cast her gaze away from his. His heart sank. Of course. He was a ghost, she wouldn't be able to see him. He attempted to put a hand on Hungary's shoulder, though his hand merely slipped through. Hungary shivered again as she put her arms around herself, before departing the room.

Prussia was left alone.

He always claimed he liked being alone. It didn't matter he didn't have any friends, because someone as awesome as he was didn't need any. Still, after fading away into the afterlife, it seemed everything about him was forgotten. The other countries went about their affairs, and even Germany seemed to cope with admirable stoicism about the ordeal. Prussia, in all of his existence, never experienced loneliness as profound as this. Even while he still resided in this place, nobody could acknowledge his presence. He simply drifted through this labyrinth of memories and festering regrets.

Walking toward the piano again, Prussia stared down at the keys, saw where the imprints of his hands had been. He then pondered whether he should follow Hungary, see where she was going. Probably back to Austria. Prussia then walked through the hallway that led into Austria's room. He saw Hungary leaning over with a tray of food, trying to coax Austria into eating. When Prussia walked further into the room, he really saw that Austria was worse for wear. His hair was haggled and unkempt, instead of brushed into aristocratic neatness, and his normally clean-shaven face showed the light shadowing of whiskers. The undersides of his eyes were smudged with dark circles.

If Prussia were alive and if Austria could hear him, he would've told Austria how pathetic he looked. Even when Hungary stood next to him, whispering encouraging words to him, Austria merely brushed her off with cold silence. Hungary then set the tray upon the text, bowing slightly before departing from the room. She swept past Prussia, and Gilbert swore he saw a vision of tears through the veil of her bangs. After witnessing this, Prussia's hands slowly curled into his fists, before he eventually relaxed them. He suddenly felt as though he saw something that he shouldn't have, something too intimate and private. Something akin to guilt crept over him.

_It's not like I was spying on them,_ he tried to convince himself. _I happened to just walk in, and then whatever had happened, happened. It doesn't matter if I saw or not._

As much he tried to justify this to himself, that none of this had to do with him, Prussia couldn't help but feel a lingering sense of obligation. Obligation. Since when did Gilbert owe anybody anything?

That's just stupid. He was Prussia, after all, and he was a fighter by nature. He went by the principle of live to fight, fight to live. Prussia didn't give up or ease up, ever, and he wasn't going to apologize for anything. Not to the world, not to Austria, and not even to Hungary. She told him before that she would never forgive him if he died (though he couldn't really recall the details of his death-all he remembered was the taste of blood and the hazed vision of a looming figure standing before him, before the explosive pain of the final death blow). But the most he could say was that he didn't go down with a fight. Live to fight, fight to live.

Yet he felt the keenest sense of despair sharper than blood-despair that he disappeared from the continent, despair that he didn't become the great empire he thought he would be. No, as he watched the progression of the years and watched all the battles and wars fought without him, he simply crumbled away until all his accomplishments and deeds were acknowledged as West's, not his. Wiped away from the map, Prussia was not even a memory, only an obsolete name that was once part of East Germany.

Why was he still here in the afterlife? He was as intangible as the name he embodied; Prussia was no more. Yet somewhere inside himself, there ebbed desire, passion for life and the adrenaline rush of battle. These were the only things he knew, live and fight. Even in the end, he still fought with everything he had, even while pieces of himself were torn away and his people screamed in anguish and burning misery. When his lifeblood spilled onto the ground, feeling a fleeting rushing warmth and the sudden onrush of cold (_bitter winter, ceaseless tundra, relentless snow_) of Russia. His blood, his very _essence_ seared the snow around him, marring the white backdrop in vivid streaks. Then Russia stood poised above him, legs astride his body, arms hovering the pipe in the air, before smashing lead against his skull, making Prussia's world awash in red.

There was no chorus of angels in his death. There was no fire or brimstone. Prussia simply woke up again, as though he sloughed off from the grips of another dream. Dying really was a funny thing, especially since the transition from death to this spectral state was in mere seconds. It's odd that he would wake up in the piano parlor room. There was no guidance from a god or a celestial entity. The only thing Prussia had with him was his memories and his resolve, nothing else. If anything, that was all Prussia could rely on in the end.

So why _was_ he here? The more Prussia thought about it, he only became more puzzled in his ponderings. There had to be some kind of purpose for him still drifting here in the afterlife, surely? Though he couldn't decide what kind of purpose he had to fulfill. Though Prussia decided that he would simply follow through instinct. He was always guided by instinct rather than rationality, and there was nothing he could do to attempt to explain the situation. The thing was, he was here, he still existed in some intangible way, and that there was something that he still needed to do while he remained on earth (_though God knows how long that will last_).

He will go visit Germany.

-x-

Gilbert perfectly remembered the reign of Hitler and the terror he struck throughout the continent of Europe. Lives were lost, blood was shed, and Germany was at war with the Allies. Germany didn't want to go through with this. The normally stoic and rational man was near hysterics when he confronted his Eastern counterpart. Gilbert never remembered a time when Ludwig appeared so vulnerable and nearly broken. Gilbert, however, told them they had no other choice but to fight.

The battle reached a height of brutality that Gilbert never could've imagined. He remembered the reign of the Teutonic Knights and the Crusades, but nothing could ever compare to the grand scale of massacres that took place across the continent. The Allies fought with as much ferocity as the Axis Powers; they kept fighting and slaughtering people on both sides. During that battle, America and Russia reigned as the two terrifying powers that pushed the ruthless onslaught of all of Germany. Eventually, Gilbert got separated from his brother and he confronted Russia in a snowy landscape.

The blizzard surrounding them was harsh, battering against their bodies with no mercy. Prussia's skin numbed from the cold, his fingertips losing all sensation. His breath came out as a thick condensation of fog. Russia didn't seem to be deterred by the cold, gloved hands wrapped across his trademark steel pipe. The tan scarf wrapped securely around his neck ruffled in the chill breeze. Russia's mouth was hidden underneath the generous fabric, though Prussia imagined there was some childish sadism of delight on his face. Prussia made the first move, barely managing to move his fingers to snap back the trigger. Russia moved with surprising ease in the thick snow, the only movements seen were the swirl of his scarf and a blur of tan. The only thing Prussia managed to accomplish was spraying a blinding flurry snow in his wake.

Prussia's pants were already soaked, the cold melting into the very marrow of his bones. His teeth chattered while he re-positioned his aim, sending another echoing shot that rang across the snowbound country. It barely managed to graze Russia's shoulder, but even then, Russia rushed forward, gripping his pipe like a sword. Prussia shot two more times at his target, direct hits this time. A startling spray of blood splattered across the blinding white background. Yet Russia didn't seem to slow down, though he ducked his face further into his scarf as he made the first swing.

Gilbert managed to hold up his rifle in time to block the oncoming blow, but the recoil caused a paralyzing shock to tingle in his already stiffened arms. Prussia merely gritted his teeth against the pain, attempting to strike the butt into Russia's stomach. Russia was momentarily stunned, though he didn't give any cry of pain except a mere exclamation of "Oh!" which was absolutely ludicrous, considering the situation they were in. Prussia then retreated back, attempting to put some space between himself and his enemy, though his footsteps seemed to sink even deeper into more snow.

Russia, however, proved to be relentless. Snow started to descend from the ironbound heavens. Marching through the thick snow and never faltering in his gait, Russia steadily advanced toward his opponent, who retreated in response. Prussia tried to shoot another bullet, but the extreme cold made it impossible for the gun to fire properly. There was only a thunder shot crack and a slight sputter of sparks, but no more. Cursing under his breath, Prussia tried to think of s solution for his dilemma, though Russia allowed no time for thinking. The pipe smashed down, striking against steel. Prussia's arms couldn't bear the pressure of shock, and a second strike completely knocked the gun out of his hands. It spiraled away from him, sinking slightly into the snow.

Prussia had no weapon to rely on, no object of defense. Instead, he used his arms to defend himself from oncoming blows. Meanwhile, Russia battered at his opponent, laughing all the while as though this was some grand sport instead of war. Prussia, however, at least took his beating with dignity, only grunting in response rather than screaming in pain, despite the protest of his muscles and the bruises forming across his body. He gritted his teeth, swallowed down guttural cries, all the pleas and prayers that lingered on the tip of his tongue.

_Hungary's going to kill me for this, isn't she? _he thought in a detached sort of way, as the steel pipe collided against his head. Red blossomed into his vision.

_I wonder if-_

He didn't get to finish his thought as the final collision made its course.

-x-

Germany's house was as meticulously neat as Prussia remembered it. He wandered into the living room, inspecting his surroundings. Even though he lived here sometimes, the place almost seemed foreign to him. Could the world really change in this short amount of time? Then again, being a country, he supposed that his concept of time was different from how humans perceive it. Glancing at a random calendar, he saw that the year was now 2000.

Gilbert always thought that he would be able to see life beyond his untimely death. He simply stared at the calendar, unable to move, seemingly suspended in his own vortex of time. Though what he wanted to know the most was whether his brother still lived. The battle during that time had been brutal, and Prussia wondered if his younger brother would even survive against the Allies. America effectively injured Japan with technology that was beyond what Prussia had ever seen; and for a moment, Gilbert saw a country that overshadowed even the former British Empire.

Prussia shook his head. No one acknowledged him. This was what being alone felt like. He always claimed he wanted to be alone, but somehow—there was an ache in his chest when he saw the other countries mourning his passing, but then moving on. The world still turns, after all, even after someone dies. But the thought that he would be forgotten—a chill bristled through Gilbert. Did his brother...forget him too? He couldn't work the nerve t see Germany as a ghost. He didn't know if Germany could even see him. Like how Hungary brushed against his hand and didn't notice him. It would hurt worse if his brother didn't acknowledge him.

Gilbert took a deep breath. He entered the study where Germany usually wrote. He examined the area, taking care not to put too many things out of place, though he saw a letter on the desk that was half scribbled. Germany must've been drinking and writing in a fervor.

_Dear Gilbert,_

_It's been a while since you've passed away, but you will forever live on in our memories and hearts. It's not the same without you, but we manage in our own ways. I will tell everyone to remember you. Even if they don't remember you, I will make them remember you. History is important to remember and you've made contributions to who I am today. I thank you for it, Brother. However, if you see this letter...I'm waiting for you to come see me. Please contact me when you're ready._

_Ludwig._

Gilbert clasped a hand to his mouth, before tears silently streamed down his cheeks.


	6. Chapter 6

**6\. Haunting melody.**

Elizabeta had two treasured men in her life. And they valued one another not only as friends, but lovers as well. They mutually agreed to share her, and Hungary was glad the relations between these two countries got stronger through her. She loved them both in their own ways, with Austria, though a bit fastidious and fussy, was actually a kind hearted man who devoted his heart and soul to a person that he would love, and expressed himself best in music. Prussia was an interesting character that claimed that he liked being alone and would flaunt his sex god appeal over the place as part of the Bad Touch Trio, but Prussia, despite being part of the Bad Touch Trio, was a gentleman in bed and revered her like a goddess. She saw them as equal partners and complementary partners to one another. Even if they had their squalls and disagreements, Hungary would mediate between them and then all three of them would have a nice cuddle session together as an apology for any ruffled feathers. Hungary could live in this haven of paradise forever, she was sure.

"You wish to learn the piano, Hungary?" Austria said, adjusting his glasses and wiping them with a cloth, before he put them back on and settled on the piano bench, gesturing for her to follow suit.

Hungary took the seat next to him, splaying her hands across the ebony and ivory keys, while Austria's hands guided hers across the keys while he taught her a lovely piano piece known as Hungary Rhapsody Migonne by Carl Koelling Hungary found herself swept up in the emotions of the music, that flowed and rippled like water throughout the parlor room in a symphony of sound. The keys tinkled with musical and lyrical sounds that drew Hungary in their colorful emotions , each sound producing a beautiful color inside of her mind with the emotions assosciated with them. She loved the colors that she could conjure on the piano, and Austria continued to keep on playing with her hands. She played a tune that reminded her of an evocative scene of moonlight splattered across a peaceful lake, thrumming like pure watery notes. It was a rapturous height of beauty that Hungary could only stare at Austria in admiration. While he guided her fingers across the keys with an elegance that was befitting the aristocrat.

Hungary didn't notice when Prussia slipped on the other side of her, watching her play for a few moments.

"The awesome me is here," Prussia said with a wolfish grin as he eyed Hungary with a hunger in his gaze that indicated that was in a good mood today. A flirtatious mood. His hand caressed her thigh while she played on her own, and Austria looked towards Prussia with a smoldering gaze that indicated that he would be the one who provided the pleasure to Hungary, not Prussia. "Are you sure this prissy rich pants boy is able to even get it up in the first place? I figured that, you know, Glasses here satisfies himself on the piano bench stroking those keys while I stroke something else."

"How undignified you are, Prussia," Roderich said stiffly. "The sweet lulls of seduction begins with the ambiance, the music. Let the notes linger and lilt through your ears, caress them, and make them yearn for the climax of a piece."

"Are you seriously using musical metaphors for sex, Austria? Huh! Just like you!"

"Now you two," Hungary said in a stern tone. "Behave yourselves. I agreed to take you both on as lovers because I wanted to see you get along with each other. There is the issues of jealousy and competition among you two, but I'll have you know that I love you both equally. There's no need to compete. Now kiss and make up you two."

"Sorry, Hungary."

"My apologies."

Hungary smiled before she wrapped both arms around her men. "All right. I'm glad that you two are willing to get along with one another for my sake. But I'm sure that you two will get along very well in this relationship. The love between a man and a man; the unspoken camaraderie between them—is absolutely beautiful and must not be tarnished."

"Speaking like prissy rich boy?" Prussia said with a grin, before he kissed Hungary on the neck and whispered. "That is actually hot as hell when you do it, Elizabeta."

Hungary smiled. "Now kiss Mister Austria, Prussia."

"If my lady commands it, then I shall do so," Austria said, before he leaned forward to kiss Gilbert on the lips. Prussia's red eyes narrowed in lust towards the Austrian, before he deepened the kiss between them. Both men Hungary's hands while they kissed one another on the piano bench, and Hungary was quite satisfied with what she started. She knew that Prussia and Austria demonstrated their love towards one another through actions, not words, and the almost feral way they eyed one another and kissed one another with a fervent passion—it made Hungary swell with pride that they did this for her. She knew that they would grow to love one another and affectionate towards one another. Just like they fell in love with her.

Elizabeta looped one arm around the broad shoulders of her men, smiling when they parted away from one another, gasping for air.

"There, there. Now you two should be rewarded for your efforts."

Hungary pecked Austria on the cheek, then Prussia on the cheek, and she smiled when Prussia growled and launched into a full makeout session with Hungary because she kissed Austria first. Hungary was swept off her feet, quite literally and figuratively while he held her and kissed her, wetting her with kisses on her forehead, closed eyelids, cheeks, and exposed throat. Austria stared on with a glazed look in his eyes while his lover was in the arms of someone he considered his rival of sorts, before he started to play the piano to set the ambiance for everything. The haunting melody reverberated through Hungary's ears, and once Austria was finished with the piano playing, Prussia made out with her for a full two minutes and thirty second. She counted.

"Well, if you're done making out with Hungary like a touch-starved teenager, Prussia, I will show you a proper kiss to a maiden as fair as Hungary," Austria said, taking Hungary from Prussia's arms and kissing her on the lips. It was no less passionate, but it was more gentle and sweet, and Hungary felt as though she were stepping on the clouds with her tiptoes, lighthearted and lightheaded, as she kissed her beloved Austria.

Hungary felt her heart beat fast for Austria, and she swooned when he finished by clasping her hand and kissing the top of it like a knight would his Queen.

"Shall we dance, my lady?"

"A pleasure, my prince," Hungary said while extended a hand towards him and Austria gathered her in his arms, moving swiftly and elegantly with his fancy footwork. Hungary managed to keep up—Austria taught her ballroom dancing for this occasion, for appearance's sake. He really was like the noble dashing prince upon his white steed to sweep her off his feet—while Prussia was watching them in the background, an inexplicable look in his eyes, but his gaze never left Hungary while she danced with Austria. Hungary held out a hand towards Prussia while Austria held her for a moment, giving enough pause that Prussia could kiss her hand as well, before they swept up into dancing again.

When they were finished dancing, Prussia cut in and started dancing with Hungary. His footwork wasn't as fancy as Austria's due to years of ballroom dancing and Queen approved balls, though Prussia had a vigor to his step and a flirtatious grip around her neck and shoulder and waist, swaying to the music that Austria was now playing to vent out his emotions towards Prussia and Hungary. They danced and sway and swung and the room was spinning by the time that Hungary was done, feet sore from dancing. Austria then stopped his music playing and then both men escorted Hungary to the bedroom, where they cuddled together on the big big circular bed. Hungary clasped hands with both men, and smiled to herself.

"I love you, Mister Austria and Prussia," Hungary whispered as she fell asleep in their arms.


	7. Chapter 7

**7\. Black ice.**

**Russia centric fic**

Russia looked over his house. It was stark and barren, as cold and fathomless as Siberia. Yet no one would want to come over to his house. They were all intimidated by him, and Russia wondered what he did wrong. He tried opening up more, but he supposed that first impressions actually lasted for a very long time, and they wouldn't get the idea that Russia was some big scary monster that wanted to devour other countries and corrupt them. There were his sisters, of course, but Ukraine, even she...well, his relationship with her was complicated. His relationship with his sister, Belarus, was also complicated. Belarus was really a sweet girl, really. He knew that she was. He'd seen it before. But that tenderness was usually reserved for him, and that made Russia uncomfortable. He didn't know if he deserved that much love and devotion from someone that wanted to be close to him and bonded with him forever. Love and devotion—he wasn't sure what these things meant himself. He was sure that Belarus, in a way, loved him, even if Russia didn't understand it, though he supposed that devoted would be a better word to describe her. Though she really was sweet during some unguarded moments, Russia...couldn't help but fear a union with himself and her. And how she would possibly react if he openly cavorted with another country. Not to blame any of his sisters for his relationship issues though—they really were fine young women. He was proud to be their brother. But sometimes, Russia wondered...what it would be like to fall in love.

Was it light and fluffy? Did it make your heart seem to float and bubble like champagne? Was that what that feeling was? Russia didn't know how to relate to it. His heart had been numbed over too many times with disillusionment. The fact that his history was wrought with deception and patricide—well, Russia wondered. What kind of person was? Was he deceiving himself that he could actually fall in love with anyone? How could he ease this loneliness in his heart? What can he do to make the countries a little less afraid of him? He wanted to reach out, but he didn't know how. So sometimes, he would infiltrate other country's houses when they weren't home and linger in there, making himself comfortable. Sometimes he'd take a token or a trophy from their house and return it to his own house, hoping that they would notice and one day come to retrieve their precious token from him. Then, Russia thought, he'd return it with a smile, and he'd tell them to come over again to play one day, perhaps. He really hoped he could do that. He's not sure if he's going about this the right way. But how else to get the other countries to approach him?

The first token that he took was from America's house. He took some K-Pop albums that South Korea gave him in hopes that the American would come retrieve it. Russia listened to some K-Pop himself occasionally—it was really becoming a world wide phenomenon. He also took an invention from South Korea's house (he wasn't quite sure what it did, though Russia was pretty sure that it would be something innovative and incredible) and he took a book from North Korea's house that she treasured and loved. England he took some of his pirate regalia from the old days from. The other countries he stole knick knacks here and there, hoping that they would notice, that they would come and get them back from Russia. He wondered if they thought that he was spying on them. No such thing. He was merely trying to get to know them better, looking over the trinkets he now currently had in his possession trying to decipher something of their owners.

America was the first to knock on his door. Ivan smiled to himself. Alfred entered the Russian's home, examining the nick nacks that he assorted, before America said really bluntly, "What're you up to, Ivan?"

Ivan felt a flicker of hesitance. Was what he was doing so wrong? "You came for something, didn't you?"

"Look, I don't know what you're scheming in that head of yours," America said, but not unkindly. "But it's not right to take someone's things without permission. You've got to ask first if you want to take something of theirs."

"I would, though I'm just trying to make friends, da?" Russia said, feeling something flicker in his heart. "They wouldn't come to my house otherwise, would they?"

"Well," America said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The principle of the notion still stands. You don't necessarily have to be friends first, but it's always good to ask permission to borrow something."

"Yes, I had every intention of returning these items," Russia said, feeling a little small. "Besides, the owners would come and retrieve them eventually, da?"

"Look, dude, Russia?" America said. "Can I get level with you here? Like...you're not spying on other countries or anything like that, are you? You're not scheming anything, are you? Because you know, it's my responsibility to look out for these kinds of things for the other countries, look out for their best interests."

"America..." Russia said, wondering how to best phrase this. "I didn't go to people's houses with the intention of spying on them. I simply….the reason why I would go into their houses...is because..."

"Not to mention, it's kind of creepy that you would show up uninvited in someone's home and then take things from them," America said, frowning a bit. "Like...I know you mean well, Russia, but you've got to learn about certain social etiquette or something like that? Not that I know much about etiquette myself, according to England, but you know. There are some things that are established, and once you've made friends with a country, you can get comfortable and ask to borrow some things if you want. Though I have to admit, this is an unusual way of making friends with people, Russia. Why don't I teach you properly?"

Russia's throat worked.

"How to make friends?"

"Of course," America said kindly, tugging Ivan by the scarf to coax him. "First, let's return South Korea's invention to him."

Trepidation made its way into Ivan's heart. "What if the other countries hate me now even more? Because I've apparently done wrong to them."

America thought for a moment, before he tugged on Ivan's scarf again as Ivan gathered the invention in his arms.

"Well, you had intentions of returning those items, right? You didn't go about the right way of making friends, and some of these countries might get angry that you took something important from them without permission, but that's what I'm here for. To explain and moderate things."

Russia looked towards America, feeling the frost around his heart grow a little warm. Was it possible to defrost the cold that surrounded him for so long? Ivan was sure...Ivan was certain that...America was like the sun, and all the other countries orbited around him like miniature planets. Ivan sometimes wondered if Ivan was America's moon, influencing the tides and changes within America's mercurial moods, and also revealing the shadows and hidden things in America's soul. He'd been on the receiving end of America's righteous anger before, but it eventually cooled down into feelings of mutual distrust. Russia was sure that America still distrusted Ivan in some way, though he was still helping him, anyway. Why?

"Why are you helping me...Ah...America."

He was about to call him Alfred instead of America. But he wondered if he was even on a first name basis with America's human's name. He wondered if Alfred would shun and reject him for these strange feelings he felt fluttering his breast every time that America came close to him. He didn't know...he wasn't sure...that he could ever tell America about these feelings. About wanting to fall in love. Of experiencing what that emotion was like. Was it possible for someone like him to love someone? Was it possible that...if it were some form of love, hypothetically speaking, was it the childish kind that only gnawed on the heart strings? Puppy love, Ivan thinks they called it in America.

He wondered if America's gaze softened towards him the slightest bit.

"You know,' America said while shaking his head softly, tapping Ivan on his rather pronounced nose. "I can't refuse someone who is asking for help."

Ivan remained silent while they made their way towards Korea's house. A companionable silence, he should say. Ivan could say it wasn't the unpleasant silence and chill that normally surrounded him in Siberia, but something that was pregnant with possibility. There were so many things to talk about. But what? What should Ivan say?

"America," Ivan said, and America tugged on Ivan's scarf to coax him along to Korea's house while Ivan held onto the invention that Korea made. "Can I...call you Alfred?"

America considered for a moment.

"I s'pose," America said. "But you're not getting out of apologizing to the other countries for taking their things without permission."

"I wasn't aiming to avoid responsibility," Russia said. "But Alfred, the thing I wanted to talk to you about..."

America paused for a moment, looking towards Russia curiously. Ivan found he averted his gaze to the ground. What was this strange feeling? Why couldn't Ivan look America in the eye? They were equals, were they not?

"What is love?" Russia said lamely, and waited for America to make fun of him or troll him, as they called it in his country.

"Love?" America said, before his eyes widened. "Oh God, don't tell me you think that love is prostituting out other countries and spying on them while they're sleeping, Ivan."

"Nyet," Russia said while shaking his head. "It's something that I've been thinking about but can't quite grasp."

"Well," America said as he considered Russia's question. "if this is a serious question, then, I would say that love is something that is a process and a discovery. It's equal terms between two partners who have their needs met and make compromises and sacrifices for the other without losing too much of who they are or what they want and need. It's dedication and making sure that your partner is having their needs met along with letting them stand on their own two feet as an individual. You know, I used to...with Arthur...I..."

Russia felt his breath hitch in his throat. America was talking about a past lover, wasn't he? Or maybe he was still lovers with England? He could see that the two were clearly interested in one another and would deny their feelings towards one another, but Russia knew that England was a major influence on America. But what was Russia to America? A rival? An afterthought? An enemy? No, they weren't enemies exactly—America was too friendly and loving of other people to truly hate someone and regard someone as an enemy unless if it compromised his hero's principles.

"It's something...that you do?" Russia said.

America thought. "It's part of it, actually. You have to do small actions and thoughts and words that eventually pile up and become something like a solid brick foundation. A house. A place of stability. You have to be consistent with your partner. Like right now, well, I'm trying to teach you the proper way of making friends, right? You're learning pretty quickly, Russia, though don't feel too bad if you lapse into old behaviors or regress a bit. There are constant checkpoints in one's life, and as long as you keep at it, then...well, you'll find what you're looking for, I'm sure."

They made their way to Korea's house. Alfred knocked on the door, and ivan worked out an apology in his head while the silence drifted between them. The Korean made his way to the door, and he seemed surprised to see Ivan and America at his house, though upon seeing his invention, Korea brightened up.

"Oh, so I wasn't suffering from memory loss? I thought I got knocked out on one of England's scones again and ti gave me temporary amnesia as to where I placed that thing."

"I'm sorry, Korea," Russia said as Korea took back the invention from his hands, trying to think of the words to say. "I didn't have any intention of stealing something from you. I was hoping that you would come to my house and get it back from me when you noticed it was gone."

"Hm," Korea said, before he did a peace sign with his fingers. "No problem, Ivan! If you wanted me to come over to your house, you should've just asked, ya big goof! Though Americaaaaaa, you haven't told me what you thought of those K-Pop Albums that I sent you."

"Well, I didn't get a chance to listen to them," America said, before he side eyed Ivan really hard here. "Because someone took it from me."

"I apologize to you too, America," Ivan said, though he thought that was Korea's belongings originally, though Ivan supposed that America and Korea had this friendship thing established and thus could borrow things from one another like that. "Though Korea, I listened to some of your music, actually. It's very soothing to listen to, it feels like...something is bubbling in my chest every time they sing. I only understand a little bit of the lyrics, but it's enough to enjoy the beat of the music, da?"

"Sure bro," Korea said while he put a hand on Ivan's shoulder and grinned. "I want K-Pop to be a world wide phenomenon! I want it to spread through all four corners of the world! If people are infected with Korea's ear worms, my business will be booming for sure! So anyway...Ivan...Ji-Yeon says that her one book is missing. Could you have something to do with that?"

"Da," Russia said, and a look from America told him to look appropriately shame-faced. "She should get out of her house some more, so I thought she should come to my house to visit, for a start."

South Korea thought for a moment, looking thoughtful. "You know, Russia?"

"Yes, Yong Soo?'

"Switzerland seemed pretty angry that one of his guns was stolen. Why would you take something dangerous like that? I would've gone for the chocolates myself."

"To send a message," Ivan said truthfully, and America frowned at him for that.

"As much as I love my guns and the right to bear arms," America said. "Do you have a death wish?"

"The truth is," Ivan said. "I took an item that was of significant importance to someone and something they would surely come to my house for afterwards. I wasn't going to permanently keep them. And Switzerland has an impressive gun collection, da?"

"So it was you," Vash said, suddenly show up with a gun in his hand.

South Korea hid behind America." Watch where you're pointing that thing! Watch where you're pointing that thing!"

"Relax, I'm not here to shoot anyone," Vash said, looking a bit irritable, though his expression seemed to smooth over into a calm mask when he looked towards Russia. "Since you admitted to taking one of my guns, I want it back."

"Of course," Russia said. "I was just returning something to Korea and America first."

Switzerland let out a soft 'Tch' between his teeth at Russia's statement.

"Whatever. Just don't do it again."

Russia returned Korea's invention, and Korea took it from Russia, quickly thanking Russia and America for their help, and then saying a quick goodbye to Switzerland and then disappearing into the house. Vash merely raised an eyebrow at this, though said nothing in remarks to the Korea. Russia thought that Switzerland was a little like North Korea in a way, in the fact that both are reclusive individuals. Though Russia had to wonder about that. North Korea didn't like guns so much, especially after the war that happened between her and South Korea, and the fact that loud noises would often make her whimper and disappear under her bed or Ivan's bed if she happened to be visiting on those rare occasions.

Once Russia returned the gun to Switzerland, Russia retreated to his house and continued returning more items to the other countries. Once all items have been returned safely to their owners, Russia settled into his bed for the night, reflecting on his actions. Did he make friends? Perhaps. Did he find the love that he was looking for? He didn't know. But he was sure that, with America helping him, the other countries understood his eccentricities and that Russia was in fact, feeling lonely. Another thing that Russia noted about the owners of the items that he took were very interesting—and helped him learn more about the people who had such items in their possession. It was a small world after all, and Russia could go to bed with a smile his face. A brand new day, a fresh start. He hoped to begin the next day with a smile on his face and make more friends.


	8. Chapter 8

**8\. Breathtaking reality.**

She looked beautiful on the battlefield. Positively radiant. That's what he thought she she drove him away from spreading his influence through Europe, and ever since that incident, Turkey felt his heart stop around her. Everything about her was the embodiment of perfection and dignity underneath that airhead persona and Valley girl speak. Turkey saw her when she was the Bulwark of Christianity, and he thought her more divine than Jesus Christ himself when she told him to go back from where he came from, to stop advancing into Europe. The height of the Ottoman Empire was something to be feared and revered, yet Felicja simply gave him a calm look that was full of calculating precision and power and God, Turkey thought that she would leave him weak-kneed with desire.

This was one of those moments where he realized it was breathtaking reality instead of a vision of the Bulwark of Christianity shining divine, a golden splendor of beauty and emerald eyes. He touched her soft blonde hair softly, reveling in it's softness. It was just as soft and silky as he imagined it would be. Even if...even if the only thing he could attain of her was a strand of her single golden hair, he would be satisfied. But Poland was allowing him to touch her hair, and wasn't this a gesture of affection towards a lover? He wasn't sure if they were lovers, but Turkey knew that he was in love with her.

"I love you," Turkey murmured as he kissed her on the top of her head.

Felcija smiled, a knowing smile, a sad smile.

"Our people won't like it," Felicja said.

Sadiq's heart sank. Of course it would be impossible for them as countries to be lovers. It was only sensible. But he felt the sentiment must be expressed anyway. He loved her. Love was love, wasn't it? And love and desire were the ultimate forms of human expression, especially when it came to carnal relations. But Sadiq wouldn't debase Felicja as a mere object for lustful indulgence. She was a Queen, a Goddess, a revered idol among her people. A personification of a country that was powerful and more cunning than she let on. That was underestimated quite a bit, but her persona was one that was carefully crafted and constructed for political maneuvering and to not let people know her. To not see her vulnerable, like she is now.

"They may not," Sadiq said, staring at her with burning eyes. "But let us not think about us as countries. Let us think of ourselves as human. Because after all, do we not have hearts that beat like theirs? Do we not feel, touch, taste, sense, like they do?"

"Sadiq..." Felicja said, as he took her hand and kissed the top of it gently.

"Forgive me for being so forward," Turkey said, not looking her in the eyes. "I was so enamored with you when you stopped my advance into Europe. I saw something special in you. I knew that you were someone that was more divine than the Gods that we worship. I wanted to have you for my own. I still do. But if that is not possible...it our people rebel against our union...than I, as Sadiq, say to you, Felicja, that I love you. What more is there needed to be said?"

"If, speaking as a human rather than a country," Felicja said, wrapping her arms around Sadiq's broad shoulders and kissing his throat gently. "I, Felicja, love you too. But for appearance's sake, we can't be seen. If our people saw us openly cavorting...our bosses..."

"I know what it means," Sadiq said, brushing a hand through his hair. However, the acknolwedgement that she returned his affections was enough. Even if their people defied them, even if their bosses defied them, their love would stand testament to how pure and enduring it was. "But for now, I will accept your confession. That is all that was needed, to be honest. I understand that we can't be seen openly in a relationship with one another. But as long as we still have these nightly meetings...as long as you say that you will be mine, we have an eternity to wait. We do, after all, live longer than humans."


	9. Chapter 9

**9\. Sensation of loss.**

Alfred penned out the script with a trembling hand. Sometimes his quill slipped, but Alfred forced himself to continue. Writing out the words gave him tangible reason to finish. The collective voices of his people clamored for liberation-and even though Alfred doubted himself and hesitated to finish the document, the notion of justice for his people spurred him on. So Alfred continued writing into the dark hours of the night, downing several cups of coffee to drown out any hesitation or fear. Sometimes Alfred would silently mouth parts of the document to himself, as though it would make the magnitude of his goal real and defined, not some abstract dream: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident', 'It is the Right of the People', and 'we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our Sacred Honor.'

After the document had been scripted, Alfred lifted the document into the light. The words seared into his eyes, branding the truth into his memory.

"Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness," Alfred whispered to himself, as though confirming this was the right thing to do. Alfred certainly wasn't doing this out of selfishness-he cared about his people, and he wanted to give them what they wanted. It was the right thing-but it wasn't the easiest choice. Long did the American nation rely on England, one of the most prosperous and powerful nations in the world. Despite all the wrongs Arthur (England) committed against him (America), the path wasn't as clear-cut as he thought. What would England think? Yes, England wronged America, and he knew that, but thinking about standing before the grand nation nearly sickened him.

How could he do this to his own father?

But it was for the people, he kept telling himself. And America shall stand as the icon of justice for its citizens. Writing his signature, Alfred F. Jones had then sealed the fate of America.

-x-

Alfred stood before Arthur, holding the Declaration of Independence before him. As Alfred read, he would occasionally steal glances toward Arthur. In the meantime, Arthur laced his hands together in front of his mouth; his features utterly impassive. Drawing courage from this, Alfred finished reading the names signed from each respective state, and lowered the document from his face. The suspense drew out between them as Arthur remained silent, motionless. Alfred's heartbeat doubled, knowing the answer even before Arthur uttered a word. At this point, Arthur unlaced his fingers from his mouth and glanced at Alfred with an unfathomable expression, before turning his back toward him. "Denied."

Numbed, Alfred dully noted the sharp edge in Arthur's tone. Even if his face didn't reveal anything, his restrained anger seemed to cast a chill in the room. Of course he would disagree. Alfred knew that, and he also knew this was a hopeless cause, but he tried anyway. He tried.

"That's all you have to say, Arthur? I barely finished writing this; I felt sick and couldn't sleep. Yet you don't even have the good manners to give me a proper response."

Arthur didn't turn.

"Don't preach to me about 'good manners'. I gave you my answer."

"Then I will fight for the rights of my people. They deserve happiness, freedom-"

"You hardly know any of those concepts. You are naïve and foolish-to think of your rebelliousness against me is unbelievable. So tell me, Alfred. What is Happiness? Freedom? Liberty? What do you understand about these notions? More importantly, do you understand what it means to be a country?"

Alfred flushed as Arthur chastised him. The elder nation always treated him like a child. Always. Even now, when Alfred towered over the elder nation and read the Declaration of Independence, Arthur didn't see him for the man he was. Why couldn't he accept this was the only way to avoid conflict, to make peace with everything before? "Being a country means making your people happy, doing things that are best for them. It means making sacrifices-it means putting your own life on the line for them! God willing, I'm doing what I have to. It's for justice, Arthur, it's-"

"I will hear none of it, especially your patronizing speech about sacrifice. Do you think I don't know anything about sacrifice, Alfred? I've lived centuries more than you have: I endured wars, destruction, calamity. If a mere fledgling like you dares to think that you're the only one to suffer-you don't have a single bloody clue. None whatsoever. You can write whatever fancy notions you please on that parchment, but you _just don't get it_."

Alfred shook his head. "No. _You_ don't get it, Arthur. Do you think I'm actually happy doing this? If I could do things differently, then I would do it. It's just…"

"It's just what, Alfred?" Arthur's tone was gentle, though Alfred could detect mocking undertones. Scorn. "Suppose if you did gain your independence. What would happen then? Have you considered the consequences behind your decision?"

Suddenly, the young nation became wearied, feeling as though he lived several centuries. "America stands by his people, even if it means war. Please consider it."

"Fine. If it will teach you a lesson, let it be war, then. England stands by his King-for he has sworn his undying word. God help you, Alfred."

"God help both of us," the young nation stated, before finally departing.

-x-

"Listen to me. It doesn't have to be like this, Arthur. I wrote the Declaration of Independence so there wouldn't have to be a war between us. Please, the only thing you have to do is agree to these terms. Acknowledge that I'm my own country-not a colony."

At this, Arthur slammed his fist onto the table-the resounding thud sounded like a gunshot in the unnatural silence of the room. Alfred never saw Arthur lose his control like this; not even after the Boston Tea Party. The invisible chasm between them only grew further apart as Arthur trembled-though whether it was out of anger or anguish, Alfred couldn't tell. Arthur clutched against the edge of the table, knuckles white before his shoulders shook with laughter. There seemed to be a manic edge to his laughter, an unchained madness that chilled Alfred into numbness.

"You…You honestly think that a piece of parchment can fix everything," Arthur said once his laughter subsided. He sounded genuinely astounded by the idea. "Oh yes, of course. Simply write pretty words down on a piece of paper, in hopes of appeasing your old steward. Unbelievable. After everything you've done-do you believe mere words can undo all the damage that you caused?"

"It's the only thing I can do. This was the only way I could think of fixing things."

Arthur's face shadowed, and Alfred didn't recognize the inhumane man standing before him. This figure wore Arthur's visage and spoke in his voice, but Alfred saw a madman in the throes of fury and despair. Was this the same man who baked him home-made scones, gave him a cup of honey-brewed tea every time he was sick, and told him fairytales every bedtime? " Does the Declaration of Independence give me back all the wasted taxes, my fallen soldiers? This isn't something you can make right with a simple apology, Alfred. Such utter foolishness. I can't even let your naiveté excuse the costs you inflicted on me. You-"

"I lost soldiers too," Alfred said, his face reddening and his blood pressure rising. "I didn't want this to happen, Arthur. But your so-called King has-"

"Don't you dare insult the King in front of me, you ignorant prat."

"_Listen_ to me. Your King imposes ridiculous taxes on us, forces us to quarter his soldiers, and controls the way we live. And you _let_ it happen! You don't do anything, you-"

"Shut your trap, twat. I changed your bloody diapers, I gave you a home, and I even raised you like a son. Did you forget everything I've done for you? I am your father, Alfred. You're lucky I've been patient for this long, but you're starting to push me past my limits."

"You're still not listening, Arthur! Your King does what he pleases, and he leaves my people to suffer! How can you simply agree with everything he does? Are you actually the one doing all this, or is your precious King stringing you along?"

"Not another word," Arthur said, his voice rising. Grief pitched his voice in a higher register. "This isn't about the King. This is between _us_. You made the decision of taking Fort Ticonderoga, Crown Point, and Boston. You dumped over shiploads of tea, and attacked my soldiers. What was I supposed to do? Did you think I would actually take that lying down? Do you think that I could turn a blind eye to everything you did?"

Shaking his head, Arthur then turned. "Tell me, Alfred. Can you honestly say that I should just forgive everything you did and pretend nothing happened? That's not how the real world works, and let me tell you, you'll have to learn that the hard way. If war is enough to teach you, then let there be war."

Alfred slumped-all the anger and frustration draining away from him. Resignation took its place. Feeling unfathomably tired, Alfred suddenly wished to run away from it all, to shut out the angry clamoring in his head. He could feel conflict broiling inside-The Patriots and The Loyalists. "I know. I know that. But if I could change everything and make this all work out, make everything right again, I would. As you said, Arthur, I can't turn a blind eye to what you did, either. Do you honestly think it's right that you taxed me, my people? You have to know that what your King is doing is wrong. Why don't you do anything about it? You simply watched as he oppressed my people. You're my father, aren't you?"

Arthur stiffened, and his face paled. "Unlike you, I know my place. It's time that you know yours."

"So that's how it is, then," Alfred said. "I did everything I could. Even you can't say anything against that. Next time I see you will be on the battlefield."

Nothing more needed to be said. Both knew that. Alfred stood up, back rigid as he turned away from his former father and older brother. War was inevitable-and Alfred finally came to realize that. Sometimes Alfred thought of going back to Arthur. But he wanted to prove something, even if it meant giving up everything. He'd gone too far to change everything that happened. Thus, the proclamation was stated: Let there be war.

-x-

"If there has to be a war, let it be between us, England."

Stepping forward, both countries faced one another. They were no longer the entities known as Alfred F. Jones or Arthur Kirkland-they were the embodiment of America and England. America stood proud, defiant, rifle pointed toward the immoveable country. His thirteen colonies stood behind him, bayonets gleaming, outfitted in blue.

"Fine," England stated, own rifle pointed towards America. "You chose this, America. You chose to break away from me. Since you no longer claim you're my son, then I have no qualms about shooting you."

"If you really want to, England, then go ahead. I'm not stopping you. I would much rather die a free country than an enslaved colony."

"Foolishness. Giving up your own life for idealistic notions. You've always been naïve. If you're so willing to die, then so be it!"

Staring into the barrel of the gun, America faced his oncoming death with calm recognition. For a moment, the gravity of the world weighed upon him-and he saw a brief glimpse of England holding out a hand to him, telling him to come home. The rain grayed into mist, and England stood before him, a spectral figure whose face was distorted like a memory half-forgotten. Everything seemed so far away now-the battlefield, the rain, the space between them. America was distantly aware of his colonies shouting behind him, telling him to raise his gun, to _defend_ himself, but the only thing he was aware of was England's anguished face. A few seconds later, America registered that England was crying-why was England crying? What did he have to grieve for, especially since he could kill the son he raised who eventually ended up betraying him?

"I should just kill you, you know," England stated, though grief cracked his voice. "It would make things easier. Then I won't have to worry about you anymore, you ungrateful twat. To think that you…_D-Damn_! Why don't you…"

His rifle trembled, and England couldn't even point the barrel to America's face. A sob wrenched out of England as he dropped his rifle. His shoulders drooped, and his head bowed in defeat. Then England dropped to his knees, body sagged into the mud. The British soldiers stood behind him, unsure as they uneasily pointed their rifles toward the colonies. America's own colonies also shared the same confusion, glancing at the fallen figure who raked his fingers through the mud, weeping and cursing.

"Put down your guns," America said, turning back to face his colonies. "I promised I wouldn't cause any more bloodshed. There's no need to continue this war."

Facing forward and staring down at the broken nation, Alfred wondered whether his victory and independence was really worth all the pain. But the revolution was set into motion-and neither of them could stop it.

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness. It all seemed empty, hollow. Yet the damage couldn't be undone. The rain poured relentlessly on both of them, silhouetting their figures into silvery mist, merciless as it smashed against America's war-weary body. Not knowing what else to do, America bowed his head in solemn reverence to the scene. The rest of the colonies followed suit.

"I'm no longer your responsibility, England," America whispered. "You don't have to worry about me anymore. Just let it go."

Just let it go. There didn't need to be any more bloodshed, more misery. Let there be time to grieve, to mourn for their lost soldiers. Nothing more needed to be said-just the ambience of the rain punctuating the silence between them. Alfred couldn't bear looking at his former father anymore and turned away. Whether England called back for him or not, America didn't know. He simply heard the deafening sound of rain.


	10. Chapter 10

**10\. Shooting star.**

During their time together in the space program that they calculated together, Russia wondered what was going on in South Korea's head. He seemed to be a dreamer with his head constantly in the clouds, with an overly cheerful personality that could be considered obnoxious by some and endearing towards others along with a good head on his shoulders when it came to calculations, science, and inventions but sometimes lacking common sense at times. He supposed that part of South Korea was the dreamer side of him, which he probably inherited a bit from America as well. Chasing after dreams, thinking about the future and the possibilities it might hold. He could see Alfred's influence in South Korea for sure, along with some of his brilliance and loving to put the wind out of people's sails by pretending to know less than he actually does to see how they would react. Sounded like America all right. But of course, South Korea was his own person as well, and Ivan admired South Korea's tenacity when it comes to rebuilding his economy and persistence when it comes to working with numbers and inventions that might not work out the best. But while Korea was looking through a telescope, dreaming about the space program that he and Russia were doing together, no doubt, Korea jumped up and down excitedly, looking towards a shooting star streaking through the sky.

"Ivan! Ivan! Look, it's a shooting star!"

"I saw," Russia said, smiling as the shooting star arced overhead.

"Did you make a wish?"

Russia closed his eyes.

"I don't know what wish I would care to make. But it is something that is supposed to be secret, da?"

South Korea pouted as he batted Ivan playfully. "Come on! You're no fun!"

"Well, in exchange for providing you with such information," Ivan said with a giggle, feeling a little buoyant at Korea's mock pouting face. "Tell me what you would do with it. Russia has to have it's mysteries and intrigue, da?"

"Well," Korea said with a slight huff, before he smiled brightly at Ivan when he spotted a planet through the telescope. "Oh wow, that is so cool! You gotta check this out, Ivan, this is like the coolest thing ever! I always wanted to stargaze with someone like this!"

"It's a pleasant feeling," Ivan said, before putting a hand on South Korea's shoulder. "What do you wish for, Korea?"

"Well, I could easily say that Korea should have it's mystery and intrigues as well, but 'cause I'm a nice guy, I'm going to tell you! I wish for a lot of things, actually. Like my people to be strong, healthy, and kind. To go into space and explore worlds beyond this one. To make the coolest invention ever that will definitely rock the socks off of everyone! Just you wait, I'm going to create nanomachines and the best robotics in the world~ Oh, and...my wish…"

Korea looked solemn and thoughtful for a moment.

"Even if I were to reincarnate into five different people in five different lifetimes, I think my wish would be the same. I wish to be reunited with my sister again. I'm not sure if it's possible at the moment, but maybe one day…"

Russia wondered. Korea sometimes looked forlorn about his sister and not being able to be together with her. Ivan knew the importance of family, after all, because he had his own beloved sisters to take care of, even though he wasn't the best at expressing his emotions and his gratitude for his sisters being there for him. Even Belarus, though Belarus,was...Russia shuddered. Perhaps she was a little overbearing at times, but she was still family after all, but still. He would think about Belarus later, because thinking about her only made him terrified to be honest. Though...South Korea had such a good relationship with his sister before, and it's understandable that he wants that bond with his sibling again. That was something that Ivan could relate to with Ukraine, actually, rather than Belarus, but Belarus was his sister as well Ties with your family was bonds that couldn't be broken, Ivan felt. Even if sometimes being with his sisters caused him great pain. Russia started to think of other things, like how he could've made his relationships better. Like how he lo—or cared, really. Yes, care sounds like a better word. He couldn't bring himself to say the 'l' word. Not with his sister, not with South and North Korea, and certainly not with America. Definitely not America. America would probably laugh in his face while splurting soda in his face if Ivan confessed an inkling of anything positive towards the American. No, I van didn't think he would be able to handle that rejection. But didn't he hope to coax South Korea over to his place to get information on America? Not to spy on him or anything. But it was something else. Something that felt more comfortable and not as suspicious as 'spying' and 'stalking'. But talking with South Korea about the space program was fascinating in itself, and Russia had a fondness towards North Korea and her brother, he wanted to know—is it possible to still have a bond even after doing atrocious things? Was there a point where one was beyond redemption?

"I want to dye the world my colors," Ivan said thoughtfully. "I wish for a world where all are equal. There are constant smiles and everyone is happy. That's...not too much to ask for, right? I think that...if people were under my care...came to my house...they would be very happy. And maybe they will...will…"

That 'L" word again. He couldn't bring himself to say it again. Why couldn't say it?

"Ah," South Korea said. "I want you to know, Ivan, that even though I love and appreciate you, that you should really learn how to open up to people. Sometimes you're closed off or come across as, er...intimidating at times, but I'm sure that your heart is in the right place. But really, don't you think space and the stars and ships are the coolest things ever!"

Korea gushed on about the technology to fuel and propel rockets, and Russia listened, humming a bit in satisfaction. Maybe he could get used to this, being in South Korea's company. And maybe he could press Korea about learning more about America, but not to spy on him, of course. It was only to...know the other nation better. As a human. Not as a country to country, but as a human. A heart to heart talk, so to speak.

Korea looked sly for a moment.

"Ah, you're thinking of America, aren't you?"

Ivan huddled under his scarf to suppress a smile. "That is a secret~"

Korea leaned closer, a shit eating grin spreading wider and wider on his face. "Oh, come on, it's written all over your face. You're thinking of him!"

Ivan giggled nervously.

"America is...very interesting," Ivan said, his voice muffled underneath his scarf. "As a country, I find him a filthy capitalist pig, but...as a human...he's…"

Korea grinned. "Even though I question the 'filthy capitalist pig' part, I'm sure that you and America would be a good match for one another. If things were to, you know, get to that point. You just need to work out a lot of issues first."

Ivan listened.

Korea then held up a finger. "First, you serenade him with a song! Then you give him flowers and secret love letters and chocolates and ooh, I'm getting giddy thinking about it! Korea loves playing matchmaker with people!"

"Wouldn't he be suspicious if I do those things though?" Ivan said in a small voice.

"Maybe he'll react with initial resistance at first, but America will settle for a good homecooked meal," Korea lectured. "He can be very strongheaded about his hero principles and all, but he softens up when you give him good food."

Russia made a future note for making homecooked meals for America, then.

"Then you should show him the stars through this telescope," Korea said. "you can do that while serenading him, too. And make sure you have a lovely dinner outside with a picnic basket where you can watch the stars and morning and sunrise as the night starts to fade away while you're watching the stars. Ooh, I get chills thinking about it! Absolute chills, I tell you!"

"Yong Soo, you're quite the romantic, da?" Russia said with a quiet chuckle.

"I'm here to help a bro out," South Korea said excitedly. "But really, thanks for watching the stars with me and everything, Ivan. I'm really excited about our space program and I think that we've made great progress! I'm sure that, in time, you will eventually win America's heart, da ze!"

Russia felt his cheeks warm.

"Do you think...that America would...let me call him Alfred?"

Korea leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered. "I bet he'll let you call him Daddy."

Russia giggled.

"Not a chance."

"in all seriousness though," South Korea said as his ahoge began to assert and express itself. "I want you to be happy, Ivan. You need to consider what happiness means to you. Are you going to stay holed up in a cold lonely place all by yourself, or are you going to reach out and make friends? The proper way to do it, after all, is showing everyone your smile. And winning hearts...Alfred loves sci fi and anything about space."

Russia took more mental notes. He then looked towards the sky, feeling content and warm. His heart felt like it would burst.

"South Korea...you are a good friend. Thank you."

South Korea made the peace sign. "Watch the stars with me, Ivan?"

South Korea then unexpectedly snuggled close to Russia, his lithe form cuddled close against the overcoat he wore. Russia tentatively lifted an arm and wrapped it around Korea's shoulder, before looking towards the sky as as hooting star shot past overhead.

He didn't know whether he wished for America or South Korea to fall in love with him.


	11. Chapter 11

**11\. Broken spirit.**

Trigger Warning: Transphobia, usage of a deadname, WWII made people into assholes.

Japan, ever dignified in demeanor and grace and manners, held out a cup of tea towards South Korea. South Korea looked at it as though it were poisoned. That is so strange. Kiku wouldn't go to such underhanded methods of poisoning a tea to a guest. Still...the Korean obviously had something important to say, and Japan knew that he should clear the air before things and tensions mounted.

"Is tea not to your liking," Japan said as he took his own cup of tea and began to drink. "Or would you prefer filthy water like your people in your land? Of course, mayhaps your brains have been addled too long without strict rules and discipline."

South Korea looked out the window. He then spoke in Japanese that was perfectly fluent "When can I go home?"

Ah, that question. Kiku let out a long suffering sigh, before he set his tea cup down and observed the Korean more thoroughly. Was he not happy here, in his house? Didn't Japan teach him the proper way of doing things? How utterly ungrateful! He was the elder brother, after all, and he would strike Yong Soo if Yong Soo showed any sign of rebellion or rejection of the Japanese culture and way.

Yong Soo looked dead. Tired. His eyes reddened and he didn't touch his food. Japan provided a nice house for him to live in and food too, and yet Korea rejected every single thing that he did for him. How was this acceptable? As the older brother, it was his duty—no, it was his right—to exert control over a younger brother who didn't know any better.

Korea remained silent. Still staring at the cup as though Japan poisoned it. Perhaps Japan might've been tempted to at one point, to cause the country some suffering for the former rebellion that they tried to cause against the older brother.

"I want you to call me Kiku-onii-sama," Kiku said with sharp, hard eyes. "And I shall call you Eun Jung."

Korea visibly reacted to that name. Vitality returned to his face and eyes as Korea stood so suddenly, fists clenching and unclenching. However, Japan simply drank his tea. Seems like he could get some reaction out of South Korea after all.

"You still don't find it fit to talk to your older brother, little sister?" Japan said mockingly.

South Korea trembled. His fists clenched and Japan swore he saw some half moon crescents where the nails dug into the flesh.

"Don't…" South Korea said, anguish in his voice. "Call me by that name."

"I will call you Yong Soo, then, if you do something for me," Japan said. "Take out that flower that you're growing in a pot in your room."

"The mungunghwa?" South Korea said.

"Yes," Kiku said, his eyes hardening. "I want it taken out of your room and replaced with a chrysanthemum."

Korea gritted his teeth. Japan, stood up, folding his sleeves together, and put a hand against Korea's cheek. "It would provide me some comfort if you grew another flower instead of...that filthy little weed."

"You take me in your room," Korea said bitterly, in Japanese. "Whispering obscenities into my ear that I'm nothing more than a filthy whore."

"But you are a filthy little harlot," Japan said. "Filthy, just like that filthy weed in your room. Corrupted."

South Korea looked towards him with something very akin to hatred on his face. Japan reveled in it, because he could feel his own blood pressure rising and the room was starting to feel claustrophobic. Exerting control over Korea, trying to monitor everything he ate and drank and what books he read—he would have none of that trash that Korea liked to read. He would write in Japanese, read Japanese literature, fight for the Japanese cause and nation. His own feelings on the matter didn't matter, the people within Japan collectively said within him. Japan wondered how, when he suppressed his feelings, how he sometimes let the voices of his people take over, and maybe one time Korea had been a beloved brother once, but now...now things are different. His people's voices clamored for Japanese nationalism and to spread the glory of the nation to the four corners of the world, and anyone who resisted that dream, that Japan would become an empire that was powerful and unquestioned—Kiku lusted in that power. Didn't every country want to spread the legacy of their nation, to write down heroic deeds and valor and the glory of war and conquest! To the spoils the victors, they said. And Korea was just one of the spoils of war that he acquired, and if he must force Korea to submit to him using force, he would.

"You understand your position very well, Korea," Japan said. "You're nothing but a paper cup. Disposable after use. That damned flower better be out of your room."

Korea remained silent.

"Korea will not remain silent about this," South Korea said. "You took my people and forced them into your army, to fight your battles. You took my women and made them your comfort women. What more do you want to take from me, Japan? What more do you want Korea to give before it breaks under you? But I will let you know this, Kiku. I may be in your house. I may follow your rules. I may, at times, even give you my body. But you will never. And I say this for emphasis: you will never win my heart or my soul."

Kiku raised a hand and slapped Korea against the cheek. That was the lightest punishment that he could give him, really. Korea looked shocked at first, but he stared at Kiku with an expression that he found completely unacceptable. Korea looked at him wrong, looking at Japan, his glorious nation, like he were a mere cockroach underneath his heel. How dare he! How dare Korea make a mockery of Japan and it's greatness! The nationalism within Japan rose, and Japan the human inside numbed his emotions because the clamoring voices were too much and when swept in the tides of nationalistic fervor a country had no choice but to listen. Maybe some part of Japan knew this was wrong, that he was doing something absolutely unforgiveable and if he pressed further than there would be a relationship that would be broken into several unreparable pieces, but Kiku...Kiku would not give up his dream, of purity and bloodlines and the descendants of the Sun itself. The land where the sun rose, shining red, red, red like blood, and Kiku saw blood, and eventually he found himself strangling South Korea, but Korea did not cry out or even tell him to stop. That's how it happened sometimes, that Japan would physically 'reprimand' Korea but it never led to strangling before, but that damned flower was so irritating and symbolic of something that meant Korea would not be stamped out, and it was this form of small rebellion and spirit that made Japan so, so, so angry.

"You're testing my patience," Japan said, feeling detached from his body and letting himself swim in the pride of his people. The pride of his people, the love for his people, the wish to protect and serve them always—he would not let them be insulted!

"The flower stands for immortality," Korea said in between gasping breaths, before Kiku released him, breathing heavily. "A country never dies as long as it's people lives, but go ahead, strangle me, Kiku. It makes you satisfied, doesn't it? Even more than my body does, doesn't it?"

Kiku raised a hand as though to hit Korea again. Korea stood unflinching in the face of his oppressor, and Japan simply went and took a kettle of boiling hot tea from the pot and started pouring it on Korea's head, letting tea slosh down through his hair and dribble down his face and yet Korea still stared at him with those damnable eyes. That he was nothing. That really, looking at him like Kiku never meant anything to South Korea—honestly, it should be Japan that was looking down upon Korea! Kiku was only hospitable and gave Korea all the comforts of Japanese food, learning, and nationalistic pride. Why wouldn't he bend and accept!

"Your body," Kiku said. "Is only an outlet in a sea of frustration, Korea. I've had better. But because you're available and cheap, I will take whatever I can. I give and I give and I give yet you refuse everything. I will not accept such bad manners or an insult to my country or people. May the glory of Japan be a reminder that it's because of me that you're worth anything!"

"I hate you," South Korea said in a low voice. "Korea will never bend to you. Make me bow, Japan."

"If this is not enough to humble you," Kiku said, his face distorted into a rare mask of anger. "Then lick up all the spilled tea on the floor. Lick it all up, then beg for my forgiveness."

Korea gave Japan a dirty look, before finally going back to his room. Japan stood there for a few moments, taking in the rebellion that Korea just showed. He would teach Korea later what respect and manners really meant. But for now, as the tea cooled on the floor, Japan simply threw the cup he had been drinking from until it shattered against the wall.


End file.
